


Sleepless in New York

by nausicaa_of_phaeacia



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Daisy-centric, Drinking, F/M, Meet-Cute, Prompt Fic, diner au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 13:23:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10991802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausicaa_of_phaeacia/pseuds/nausicaa_of_phaeacia
Summary: In an alternate universe, Daisy and Coulson first meet at a diner in the middle of the night.





	Sleepless in New York

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skyepilot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/gifts).



> For Skyepilot who prompted me Daisy and Coulson having insomnia and a diner AU, but this fic basically wrote itself, so I'm not sure what exactly it turned out to be. Hope you like it! ♥  
> (Excuse the embarrassingly unoriginal title.)

It's really been one of those days, the ones that make you want to pretend you're still asleep or dead. They usually get topped by something even more inspiring when you're at work, a just awesome conversation with the boss, a deadline taking a huge leap towards you or something like the Big Coffee Spill of 2015. 

Daisy doesn't usually do this, but since it's raining like crazy and it's probably a little too late to get a cab within a reasonable amount of time (at least in this part of the city), she hops into the diner that looks like it's been stolen out of the Hopper painting. At least now she can pretend she hasn't gotten too wet yet. It's still uncertain whether anyone is going to buy into that, considering that every single drop on her blazer has turned into a darker spot on the fabric.

"What's your poison?" The guy behind the counter looks like something between a private eye and someone who'd get into a stabbing while betting on horses. Daisy hates the question. Also, it's sort of hard to decide what you should be drinking when you've been awake since four and at the office typing up the front page story for tomorrow until two in the morning. If there were such a thing as a cocktail involving both hot cocoa and vodka, that would probably be it.

She's about to reply when the guy leans over and says, "Let me guess. How about a French 75?," he says, and Daisy just nods, she's too tired to discuss cocktails. Her drink actually looks nice, and it tastes like there's not only champagne to it, but also gin and some sort of lemon syrup. Okay. Taking a first few sips gives her time to look around the diner. It's basically empty except for a lovey-dovey couple in the corner whose shenanigans almost make Daisy feel guilty for looking in their direction. There's also some sort of office guy seated a few bar stools down from her, dressed elegantly enough to tell her he doesn't really belong here but also tipsy enough to tell her this is not his first visit. He looks strangely familiar, though, she's not sure what it is about him that makes her think she's seen him before. If he'd only tilt his head this way a little so she could see -- 

"Hey," he says, and Daisy thinks, no, please, please God don't make him want to have a conversation, I'm not up for this sort of thing. She half-nods in his direction and hides in her drink.  
"I'm sorry," he says, and she's surprised at his voice, because it doesn't only sound like she might have heard it somewhere before, it also sounds _likeable_. Daisy doesn't need likeable right now, what she needs is half an hour to herself. "I'm sorry, have we met?," he asks, and she's too polite to sigh audibly, because while it's the world's most overrated pick-up line, it's not factually his fault that she wants to be left alone. Also, the question strikes her as very irritating since it's not even been a minute since she's been trying to remember why he looks familiar.

She cautiously throws him a look, and while he doesn't look like he could do anyone any harm, he also looks lonely enough to have been following her. That actually sounds like a possible solution as to why she feels that they've met before. It also makes her angry, because the last thing she needs today is a creep trying to tell her he's been admiring her beauty for the past few days. Or weeks, God. Please no.

"I _really_ don't think so," she says, and it comes out very sharp and cold. He instantly shrinks away a little, and she almost feels bad. "I'm sorry," he offers. "I've ... I've had a few too many," he says, hands the bartender a few bills and walks out into the rain, swaying side to side very gently. Oh, damnit, she thinks, that was unnecessary. She orders another drink.

***

She first walks past the diner after work the next day, not really eager to spend another night out when she could be sleeping. After the next block, she turns back around, because it's not like she is actually going to be sleeping. Not when she hasn't been having a detectable sleep cycle for months, and not when her pager has been going off in the middle of the night the sixth or seventh time in a row.

It's almost three in the morning, but from inside the diner, you wouldn't really be able to tell what time it is. The artificial light above the tables is the same during opening hours, and it doesn't look like there are many stray sunrays to be had next to the large mall. Daisy doesn't mind, she hasn't had a sense of time in a while, this isn't going to be much different. Walking in, she notices the same couple in the corner, all over each other like last time, the same bartender, and the same office guy sitting on the same stool. She's tempted to feel sorry for him, but what does she know. Decidedly, she walks up to the stool she chose last night, and the guy behind the counter shoots finger guns at her as he mouthes "French 75". Daisy rolls her eyes. 

It's probably just the lack of sleep, but she thinks the cocktail tastes even better tonight than it did last night, and it takes her much less time to order a second one. Also a third one, because screw it.  
The guy from last night doesn't look over at her, and it makes her feel a little sad. Sure, his line was stupid, and the last thing she needed after yesterday, but she probably could have answered him more politely. She can't decide if she should say something or nod at him or otherwise attract his attention. Maybe the forth drink is going to offer some advice. 

What it definitely does offer, though, is a lovely floating feeling, and while Daisy knows herself well enough to tell she's not too drunk to walk home yet, this is an absolutely welcome change considering the past few sleepless nights she's had. Picking up her fifth cocktail, she walks up to the office guy, because this is getting weird. They're the only people around, after all, not counting the busy couple over there. She props herself up on the stool next to him, leans over the counter a little to make eye contact. The guy looks very surprised, like a little fawn or something, and it's actually quite endearing.

"Hey," she offers to mask the awkwardness of intense mutual staring.  
"Hey," he says, straightening up a little, nervously touching his collar to make sure it's in place.  
"Sorry about last night," she says, a little out of breath, "I had an absolutely shitty day."  
He obviously didn't expect an apology. "That's – it's fine," he says, "me too. Can't sleep."  
She nods knowingly. "Yeah. Sounds familiar."  
"You too?"  
"Haven't had a good night's sleep in forever. It's crazy." She sighs.  
"Work?"  
She makes a very vague gesture. "Mostly. Yeah. Work."  
"Same," he says, copying her hand movement, and it makes her smile. Okay. Company.

Not that the ensuing conversation could be filed under "Most Interesting" or "Most Effortless", but it's nice to not be alone with thoughts and a drink for a change. They actually get to spend an hour talking, superficially, okay, but making conversation, and the alcohol is probably playing a role in the looseness of the whole thing, but this feels nice. Too nice to go home, if Daisy's being honest.  
"I've always wanted to be an investigative journalist when I was a kid," Coulson says, because his name is Philip, but Daisy thinks Coulson sounds nice, like with Fox Mulder.  
"Oh," she says, making a dismissive gesture, "let me tell you, it's not as great as people think. It can be absolutely great, and I'm not saying I don't love it. But it's not like _Spotlight_ happens all the time, and there's not one Robert Redford to be had."  
It cracks him up, and their shoulders accidentally touch for a very long moment as they're laughing. Daisy surprisingly feels very okay with that.

When they leave, it's late enough for people's days to have started again, and Coulson hails her a cab. She almost falls as she's opening the cab door, because these heels aren't really made for when you can't maintain 100% of your everyday balance, and he grabs her arm just in time to save her from falling. She shoots him a smile, and she could swear he's blushing at that.

*** 

The four hours of sleep Daisy manages to get before the next workday feel like heaven, they feel like she finally got something she really earned. Of course, it's at the cost of getting to work a little bit late, but at least she manages to choose something really _nice_ from her closet. Not that she ever really leaves the house without looking elegant or at least fierce (fierce is easier on most days), but it's the first time in a while where she really feels like putting in a little effort. Her colleague greets her with a "What happened?," and she feels accomplished.

Obviously, Daisy would never neglect her work, not when she's dealing with writing about stuff as important as arms deals, police brutality or a corrupt administration, but she's been catching herself thinking about Coulson a few times today. He still seems so familiar, like they've had conversations some time in the past, but they definitely haven't met, so she keeps wondering why. On the other hand, he's probably also started to feel familiar from seeing him at the diner by now. She wouldn't be able to tell now, it's probably too late for that. Maybe he's just likeable, maybe she just feels _inclined_ to give him the benefit of the doubt, to be at ease with him.

Instead of staying at the office until after everybody's left (after all, she's the head of her team), she manages to type up tomorrow's story early enough for her to leave at a reasonable time. With her luck, though, her pager buzzes just a few minutes after she's left the building. She doesn't have a choice, if she's not going to react to it, no one else will. There are not enough people involved with the Rising Tide for that, especially not Inhumans. As per usual, her handbag contains everything she needs for such a nightly operation, but the dress she put on this morning won't take many punches, so she reluctantly goes to change her clothes at the mall's bathroom.

Things turn out to be more complicated and time-consuming than she'd anticipated. As she walks by the diner, the couple's corner is empty, and she thinks it's probably really too late to have a drink tonight, but then she sees Coulson from behind, still at the bar, drinking sparkling water, and it's a little heartbreaking.

When she walks in, the bartender questioningly points at a cocktail glass with a dramatic gesture, but she shakes her head. It makes Coulson turn around, and the hopeful look she spots on his face right before sees her is the sweetest thing. It makes her realize he's probably been waiting for her for hours.  
"Hey," he says, and his voice can't really contain his excitement. She smiles. "Hey."  
"I was – Hey, are you okay?," he adds, looking at her arm, and Daisy notices the tear in her jacket. It's a little bloody, and she makes a mental note to herself to always check for wounds after every fight. At least if she's planning to enter diners afterwards.  
"Yeah, I'm fine, it's just a scratch," she says, and it's quite embarrassing. This was definitely not how she wanted Coulson to see her tonight, the poor dress is all squeezed together inside her bag. At least her makeup is probably still flawless.

Coulson's eyes get big, and she remembers that most women probably aren't walking around with bloody scratches on their upper arms. "I – There was an altercation at the ... a few blocks from here," she says. His expression doesn't change much. "I, um – I saw it and wanted to help." She tries to cough away the sudden redness of her cheeks, but it doesn't work. It never works.  
"Did you – did you get involved?," he manages, and there's something else in his voice besides surprise, and if Daisy weren't so focused on maintaining a cool look on her face, she'd be sure it's admiration. To distract, she waves at the bartender, before she mutters, "Just a little."

He manages to nod, and it's adorable how he's trying to go on as if nothing out of the order had happened. It makes her smile.  
"What's it gonna be, missy?," the bartender approaches, and just when Daisy wants to retort with something mildly annoyed, Coulson suddenly says, "Don't call her that," and while she's more than capable of coming up with sharp replies, Daisy appreciates the gesture.  
"What can I serve you, _Madame_?," the guy tries again, and Daisy spits at him, "Scotch. Neat," and that does the trick. "Two," says Coulson.

He's hesitant to ask her questions about her occupation at the Rising Tide, like he's really scared to intrude, and Daisy thinks, this guy is really different. Without telling him any specifics, she tells him tiny bits, like how she once had to ride a bus on its roof instead of inside, and apparently, that's extraordinary enough for Coulson to struggle scraping a few words together as a reply. She forgets sometimes. 

"What do you do?," she tries, because seriously, it's time she knew something about him. Coulson is a little shy about it, plays it down, but it turns out he's working for S.H.I.E.L.D. Of course, Daisy isn't flat-out thrilled, since S.H.I.E.L.D. has quite a history of corruption, and especially recently, there have been rumors within the Tide that the agency has been infiltrated by HYDRA. Again. But Coulson looks like he's one of the genuinely good guys, and she's got to say there's something about him that makes her want to trust him unconditionally. Like if he'd ask her right now to join him on some shady underground mission, she'd probably say yes.

When he opens the cab door for her, for a moment, Daisy's not sure how to say goodbye. She instantly regrets it, because that's what she always does, make a bold move and a fool out of herself, but Coulson's face after she's awkwardly hugged him tells her otherwise. She gets home still smiling.

*** 

The next few days, Daisy doesn't make it to the diner, and it sucks. She doesn't get to sleep instead, either, because her team at the newspaper is working on a really huge story dismantling a counterespionage affair within the government, and it's all tied to an anti-Inhuman terrorist group, which puts her in double danger, especially since she's involved into the story on both the newspaper front and the Tide front. She deliberately chooses different routes home and to work, sleeps in the kitchen, camps on the roof, books a hotel room. After a week, and after the scandal the story caused has ebbed down a bit, she deems it safe to visit the diner again.

She's still wearing the clothes the photographer picked for the portrait shoot they did for the newspaper's follow-up story, and while this isn't normally her taste, she can see Coulson's lips form an O when he sees her. It's still not her appearance he comments on first.  
"Great story," he says. "I was worried," he adds.  
"Thanks," Daisy replies, and she really does feel proud of the whole thing. The research has taken her almost half a year, and it feels like the right thing to do to publish all of it, to not censor a news story because current politics might suggest otherwise. She almost gets a little close to him as she approaches to sit on the bar stool next to him, but he doesn't mind, they exchange a smile. It makes Daisy feel a little weird in the stomach, and after habitually going through a list of potential threats that might be a symptom for, she reaches the conclusion that they're butterflies. Daisy Johnson and butterflies, well. They raise their glasses "to Justice," and Daisy feels more understood than she has in a while.

That only lasts until three masked men roam the diner, shooting at the bottles behind the bar, making the couple in the corner squirrel out of the building through the side door and the bartender duck down behind the counter. Daisy instantly gets up and sends two of the guys flying against the wall, the vibrations causing the empty glasses on the table behind them to shatter. As she turns around to deal with the third guy, Coulson has already taken care of him by wrapping his thighs around the attacker's neck, taking him down. She would have paid money to see that process. After quickly checking the windows, she goes to offer him a hand. 

"You okay?," she asks, trying not to smile, because as unconventional as his tactics may be, she's pretty impressed with Coulson's skills (and his reaction time).  
"Yeah," he says, "you?"  
"Peachy," she offers, dusting off her cocktail dress. "How about ... _him_?," she gestures toward the guy on the floor.  
"Out," he confirms, "just like those two." He quickly peeks behind the bar to make sure the bartender's okay, reassures Daisy by giving an affirmative nod.  
"Police?," she asks, even though she knows neither Coulson nor her have ever been really friends with the idea.  
"S.H.I.E.L.D.," he says, then presses a small button on his wristwatch, and it's Daisy's turn to be fascinated. He picks up on her expression and nonchalantly offers, "S.S.R." She thinks that he probably finds the enthusiastic nod she's just given him cute, because the smirk on his lips is wild.

Daisy reaches down behind the counter and finds an intact bottle of ... champagne. It's a bottle of champagne. She raises it questioningly, as Coulson goes to check the attackers' credentials. He seems both amused and pleased by the suggestion, so Daisy pours two very differently shaped glasses of expensive champagne.  
"HYDRA?," she asks.  
"Difficult to say," he says. "These are probably fake IDs. Could also be –"  
"– anti-Inhuman sons-of-bitches? Yeah. Or private government security."  
"You mean they were after you because of the article?"  
"Maybe. Probably both."  
He seems to be considering that for a moment, then approaches her to raise his glass.  
"To government transparency," he says, "and good vibes."  
She could swear he just winked at her.

As they're finishing their glasses, she says, "I should probably leave."  
"Because of S.H.I.E.L.D.?"  
"Yeah. I mean how would you explain us drinking champagne in such a situation?"  
"I'm good at telling the truth," Coulson smirks, and it's cute. "But I get it if you don't want to get involved in this, since you're all over the news. I'll just tell them I took out three guys by myself. Simultaneously. In two different spots of the diner."  
She wholeheartedly laughs at that, touches his shoulder for a moment. "Okay," she says. "But only if there won't be any names. Or pictures."  
He nods. "Promised. You can trust Mack," he offers, as said Mack enters the diner.  
"Congrats, Coulson," he says, "this is just like ... um, was it Baltimore?"  
"Sounds right," Coulson replies. "We're driving Daisy home, okay?"  
"Copy that," Mack confirms as he goes to shake Daisy's hand, no questions asked, even if they're written all over his face. Daisy decides that he's a good guy. They carry the bad guys out the back door and into the back of Mack's van while Coulson does his best to wake up the bartender.

***

The following day, Daisy's the first to arrive at the diner. They've never spoken about meeting there regularly, but it's just become a _thing_ , somehow. Taking the bar stool Coulson normally chooses, she gets to see him arrive, sort of duck into the diner from the rain, probably not unlike the way she did when they first met. She tries not to look too excited when he walks up to her, and it's especially hard since Coulson looks so happy himself.  
"Blood and Sand?," she asks, and for a moment, he looks confused until she hands him her still untouched cocktail.  
"Thanks," he smiles, and she can tell he's not a cocktail person, but taking into account his recent choices at the diner, he might like this one. She's not disappointed, the approving smirk is there, so she orders another one for herself.

It's one of those nights you really don't want to end, and they spend it talking. Coulson gets rid of his jacket and rolls up his sleeves after a while, and Daisy feels oddly proud for making him feel comfortable enough to do that, especially since he usually walks around in a suit. At one point, and it's long after the corner couple has left, Daisy finally takes a deep breath and asks Coulson if he wants to dance. Of course, precisely then, the song changes to a very slow one, and Daisy isn't sure if she should be happy or annoyed. Coulson blushes at first, but he offers her his hand, and from then on, things are wonderful. She'd never have picked him for a dancer, for some reason, but it feels like he's been doing this forever.

Daisy is actually so comfortable dancing with him that it starts feeling scary, because it's always scary when you realize you've lost your defense instincts. And it's particularly scary when you're not thinking about defending yourself when it comes to men, at least, that's what it's been like for Daisy for as long as she can remember, so she suddenly asks, "Baltimore?"  
It's obvious that it makes him freeze up a little, but he's trying not to show it. "Yeah. Mack and I were there for a mission. We had to find an explanation for how we took out eleven guys at the same time."  
"Eleven," she says, but it's a question.  
"Yeah. We had to keep Ghost Rider out of the report. It was hard to explain all the burns."  
She looks intrigued. "You mean Robbie? He didn't tell me about that one," she laughs. "I can totally see you guys take out eleven guys together."  
Coulson's face has darkened. "You know him?," he asks, and she can tell he's trying too hard to sound pleased.  
"Yeah," she replies, "from the Tide, you know." He nods.

Their dance has gotten a little slower, and Daisy's worried she might have said something stupid, until she realizes Coulson is probably just flat-out _jealous_.  
"I don't know him that well, though," she adds, unable to stop herself from smiling like an idiot, because if Coulson's jealous, it means he's into her. He instantly realizes what's going on, and his smile is really cute. "I'm sorry," he offers, a little embarrassed. "I can't compete with his looks," he adds, and it unmistakeably sounds like flirting. It makes her laugh, and he suddenly picks up the dance again. Daisy pulls him closer, a lot closer, just to be clear, and she can tell he's still smiling at her shoulder. "You don't have to," she mutters.

They stay until it almost gets light out again, and the bartender is doing his best not to look annoyed. Daisy picks up the check before Coulson can, and while he sincerely offers to split it, he does look a little impressed when she doesn't let him.  
"Thank you," he says as they're standing in front of the closed diner a little awkwardly. "I really enjoyed myself."  
"Me too," she smiles. A beat passes where nothing happens except them looking at each other a little too intensely, then Daisy decides to give him a peck on the cheek and waves at an approaching cab. She looks back at him as she opens the door, and he looks so happy it almost hurts, because that's how she feels right now, too.  
"You wanna share?," she calls, holding the door. He nods, incredibly pleased, and comes running towards her.

They don't even make it down the block, because it's suddenly kind of crowded in the back seat with the two of them, and Coulson's face is not too far from hers, and the non-smile he's trying to hide feels like everything she's been looking for. The tension is almost unbearable, and Daisy suddenly leans in, making him mirror her instantly, like they've both been waiting for this, and mere seconds later, they are making out wildly, or at least as wildly as the back of a cab allows.

When they arrive at Daisy's place, she absent-mindedly hands the driver a bill and simply pulls Coulson out of the car by his hand and up the stairs and into her flat. She's trying to be careful, but as soon as her door is closed, she pushes him against the wall, gently but leaving no room for doubt. He tastes like cherry syrup and Scotch and smiles, and that's it, that's all she wants, to be kissed like _this_ , thank you very much, this is it.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written a fic this long in ages so it felt like I couldn't remember how to do it ;) I also sort of forgot I was writing about insomnia and an actual diner and not just a bar, but maybe that doesn't matter. Also, Daisy is obviously better than Clark Kent.  
> Thanks so much for reading! ♥


End file.
